Archive by Author

Memories of a Home Town

24 Jan

I’ve just come back to England after a short, spontaneous holiday in Denmark. I had a few days off and there was a January sale on flights, so I grabbed the chance to go home and cuddle with the cat for a little bit.

For a few years now I have been walking around with an idea for a photo project that I planned to someday do at home. I would photograph the places I used to inhabit, the street where I grew up, the tunnel systems I used to travel through, my old school and the lake where I used to meet my friends. The project would be about photographing all the places that have now become memories, places that I only visit rather than live in. It was also the plan that these photos would sit next to photos of the streets and neighbourhoods I used to inhabit when I lived in London. A juxtaposition of those two cities that made me as a person.

But I haven’t been quick enough. I have taken too long to mull over the idea and now I’m not sure that anything will ever become of the project. You see, the problem is that those places have changed much faster than I have been able to capture them. My street at home in Denmark no longer looks like the street I left before I moved to England. Trees have been cut down and the front yards have almost all changed. The same has happened in London but at an even quicker pace. I went there just a week or two ago to do some test shoots in Bloomsbury for the project and realised that all the places I had written down on a list to photograph that hold strong memories for me, weren’t really the same places. New buildings keep popping up, destructing views that I have been fond of and new restaurants have taken the place of the ones I used to eat in. That neighbourhood that was mine simply isn’t there anymore. Not in the form that I knew it in anyway.

So I don’t know. Maybe this was never meant to be more than an idea written down in a notebook. Or maybe I will get back to it later and find a different approach to it. For now all I have are these test shots that I took with a disposable camera in the summer of 16 when I was still trying to capture my hometown.

 

 

 

 

Stories from the North

8 Dec

 

I have been thinking a lot about Nordic literature lately. Maybe it’s because of the season but at this time of year all I want to do is hibernate, get the knitted socks out, drink hot chocolate and cosy up with an old favourite classic or a suitably melancholic Scandi book. Maybe it’s simply because the cold and the darkness here in winter reminds me of home, so I want to read books that help take me there while I’m here in England. Either way I think that stories from the Nordic countries are just the perfect thing to read at this time of year.

For the past few years I have noticed that more and more literature from the Scandinavian and Nordic countries get translated into English and it makes me so happy that publishers dare to take a chance on books from smaller languages. Without translations those stories won’t reach very far and without English translations in particular I can’t recommend them or share them with people here. And while my mother tongue is Danish and I can read both Swedish and Norwegian as well, they also help me to encounter books from Nordic countries whose languages I can’t read, such as Finnish and Icelandic.

Literature is known for its ability to take us away, from ourselves and where we are, from the life that we lead. It just wasn’t until I moved to a different country myself that I realised literature can also take us home. So here are a few Nordic reads I have enjoyed lately, because they have reminded me of home and helped to soothe my always lingering homesickness but also because they have taken me on a journey.

 

 

 

The Dark Blue Winter Overcoat: and other stories from the North – ed. Sjon and Ted Hodgkinson*

“The North: home of epic storytelling, birthplace of the saga, where stories of human survival have long been sculpted by the region’s natural elements, from sheltering forests to islands lashed by unforgiving seas. This exquisite anthology, selected by Sjón and Ted Hodgkinson, collects fiction from across the Nordic region in all its thrilling diversity; storytelling that is often rooted in the world of folklore and fairytale, or sometimes stark realism, and typically served up with a dark and dry wit of this world on the brink.”

I don’t read a lot of short stories so when I do, I select them carefully and this is such a beautiful collection of stories! When I first heard about the collection and saw which authors had been picked, I was amazed at the diversity of the selection and excited to see some of my favourites like Kjell Askildsen in it, as well as authors from Greenland and the Faroe Islands that I wasn’t familiar with.

Rather than reading them all in one go, I have been taking my time with the collection, dipping in an out of the book and savouring each story. The experience has been a little bit like picking out a piece of chocolate from a box and letting it slowly melt in your mouth until all the flavour comes out. I even took the book with me when I recently went home to see my family and spent a weekend in our wood cabin in Sweden reading it while the woodstove burned. I thought there was a lot of variety in the stories but also something that made them feel connected to each other. There is a simplicity in both the writing and in the plots that is typical of Nordic literature, fantastical elements even in the stories that belong more to realism and a sense of a threat or something sinister lurking in the background of ordinary, everyday lives.

These stories really deserve to be read and what better time to do it than in the middle of winter when everything is at its darkest and bleakest. One story in particular, the Man in the Boat by the Swedish author Per Olov Enquist really got to me and has been haunting me ever since, so much that I find myself still thinking about it now many weeks later.

 

 

 

Secret Passages in a Hillside Town – Pasi Ilmari Jääskeläinen*

“In a small hillside town, Olli Suominen – publisher and discontented husband – is constantly losing umbrellas. He has also joined a film club. And Greta, an old flame, has added him on Facebook. As his life becomes more and more entangled with Greta’s and his wife and son are dragged into the aftermath of this teenage romance, Olli is forced to make a choice. But does he really want to know what the secret passages are? Can he be sure that Greta is who she seems to be? And what actually happened on that summer’s day long ago?

Absorbing, atmospheric and often very funny, Secret Passages in a Hillside Town is an intoxicating novel about the grip of the past and the romance of what has been lost.”

When Pushkin Press got in contact with me last year and told me that the author of one of my favourite novels, The Rabbit Back Literature Society, would be publishing a new book this winter I got very excited. Despite not really being into magical realism, I had found myself falling absolutely in love with the Rabbit Back. So a part of me was worried from the beginning that I would be putting too much expectation on Jääskeläinen’s new book before even opening it.

I don’t know if that’s the reason I didn’t really like Secret Passages at first. I didn’t warm to Olli and found both him, his life and the whole plot very weird and a bit ridiculous. Despite that there was something alluring about it that made me want to keep reading, if only to get to the end to find out what all the mystery was about. And what an ending that turned out to be!

This turned out to be such a strange, different and also slightly heart breaking love story, a story about a lost childhood, memories and all the ways we can hurt and abandon each other as we go through life, either because we mean to or because they get tangled up in our lives along the way. It had a dream-like quality that made everything in the story seem unreal, like the experience you sometimes get when you are dreaming of something that is constantly just out of your reach even when you try to move towards it.

I didn’t fall in love with it like I did with the Rabbit Back but there was still something about it I can’t quite put down in words.

 

 

 

One of Us Is Sleeping – Josefine Klougart

“The English-language debut from one of Denmark’s most exciting, celebrated young writers, One of Us Is Sleeping is a haunting novel about loss in all its forms.

As she returns home to visit her mother who is dying of cancer, the narrator recounts a brief, intense love affair, as well as the grief and disillusionment that follow its end. The book’s striking imagery and magnificent prose underpin its principal theme: the jarring contrast between the recollection of stability, your parents, your childhood home, your love, and the continual endings that we experience throughout our lives.

When I was home in November, I remembered to grab my copy of this book from the shelf in my room and took it back with me to England, so I could reread it here in the cold months and be reminded of the snow and the melancholic mood of Danish winters. Josefine Klougart has been one of my absolutely favourite Danish authors since her debut came out in Denmark in 2010. Reading her for the first time was a complete epiphany to me and while this book is one of her later ones it’s just as beautiful and one of the few that have been translated.

Klougart writes in Danish like no one else I have ever encountered. She has often been described as the Danish Virginia Woolf because of her long, stretching stream-of-consciousness sentences that weave in and out of each other. Her words have an amazing ability to create vivid images in your mind and they are so poetic, so lyrical and beautiful. I love books that carries a kind of silence in them and both Klougart’s words and the scenes she writes about are filled with this kind of poetic stillness. They make you slow down and notice all the little everyday things that Klougart is so good at writing about. Things and objects that might not seem important but make up our lives.

This is one of those authors that I really wish more English readers knew about. Even if just one person picks up the book after reading this I will be happy. I admit it’s not the easiest book to get a hold of, at least here in the UK (it’s easier in the US) but you can order it through Waterstones.

 

 

The Invisible Child – Tove Jansson

“A unique collaboration between the Moomins, Oxfam, Waterstones and Sort Of Books, The Invisible Child will raise money for projects that fight inequality and help women and girls everywhere escape from poverty, abuse and neglect.

In Tove Jansson’s much loved short story, The Invisible Child, the isolated Ninny is helped to regain her voice and take her rightful place in the world using a simple Moomin recipe. She is welcomed into the Moomin family and treated with equality and respect. This is one of the most touching of all Moomin stories and is paired in this unique book with The Fir Tree, the Moomins’ gloriously unselfish take on Christmas.”

One day when I was walking home from work at the castle, I found a £5 note lying on the street with no owner in sight. I felt bad picking it up but I put it in my wallet and for a long time I walked around with it, not being able to decide if I should treat myself to something nice or if I should give it to charity. Then Oxfam and Waterstones published this book with 100% of its £4.99 cost going to charity and my mind was made up to do both.

I grew up watching the Moominntrolls cartoons on television in Denmark but don’t remember reading any of the books, so this was my first one. The Invisible Child is such a sweet, little story and even though it’s a short and simple one, I enjoyed reading it and what it had to say about how we treat other people and how, if we are treated right, we let our real personalities show. The other story in the book, the Fir Tree I haven’t read yet, as I’m saving it for Christmas but a peek at the illustrations is making me think it will be just as sweet.

I’ve seen a lot of people on social media mention the Summer Book by Jansson this year, so after reading this I think I might finally try and give that one a read, too.

If this post has made you interested in finding more Nordic books to read I wrote another post a few years ago that you might like, too. And if you have any favourites you think I should read leave them for me in the comments, I’m always looking for more!

 

*These books were kindly sent to me from the publisher at my own request.

An Ode to the Things that Change

20 Nov

 

We know that most things in life will come and go. That things change and nothing remains the same. The leaves fall off the trees in autumn, people split up, we move to different houses or a different city, we grow up and we grow apart. It’s one of the things I struggle with most in life but it’s also one of the things that fascinates me more than anything else; the impermanence of everything and how we try to hold on to what we have and what we know.

I don’t like change, I don’t embrace it easily or elegantly. I try to hold on for as long as possible, even after it seems ridiculous and letting go would be easier. There were two stubborn, shell-shocked weeks in London after I moved from Denmark, where my suitcase remained in the middle of the room with all my clothes in it, until one by one every item in it had been used and needed to be washed. It was only then that I folded them and hung them up in the wardrobe and as the smell of fresh laundry filled the room  more like a home. I let go then and let it become exactly that.

 

 

A few months ago I was scrolling through Instagram when a photograph by film photographer Chi came up on my feed. Chi takes beautiful photographs of flowers in a way I have never seen anyone else do, they are poetic and full of swirling colours and light. The caption under the photo mentioned that it was taken with Adox Color Implosion film and that sadly it was being discontinued. In the same moment I was discovering this film, a film I might like to try to use myself, it was gone. It was such a sad thing to hear, that just as film photography is having a resurgence, some films are going for good.

I bought some rolls of the film while they were still available and inspired by Chi’s photographs and my own preoccupation with nostalgia I went to the church of St Mary’s to shoot my first roll. St Mary’s is a ruined church I have been to before and which was bombed and nearly destroyed by a doodlebug during WW2. And since then it’s just been left to slowly disintegrate into the landscape on the top of a hill in the Kent countryside.

 

If you have been reading this blog for a while you probably already know I have a thing for ruins, both the real ones and the ones depicted in art and books. They make me think of all things Gothic, of Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey and the ruins often depicted in Turner’s paintings.  Especially at this time of year, the slow dissolving of colour and the appearance of a more barren world in autumn and winter makes me want to seek them out.

I think there is something both romantic and wistful about these shelled-out churches and crumbling houses and castles, they are a reminder that nothing lasts but that change can be beautiful. We might lose our so carefully build constructions to wars, tragedies, natural disasters and the passing of time but they can transform into magical places of mystery and half-forgotten memories. They can live on in a different form like when nature reclaims them, letting vines grow in the cracks that have appeared and spreading the seeds of daisies over tumbled stone walls where they will begin to bloom up.

So that is where I went to try out my first roll of Adox Color Implosion and to experiment with what it could look like. Because what could be more appropriate than capturing an ever-changing, slowly disintegrating place than doing it on a film that is about to disapear. Trying in some way to appreciate and hold on to them both before they are gone. So here they are, my photographs from St Mary’s church in the countryside of Kent, an ode to nostalgia and the things that do not stay the way they are.

 

 

All photographs captured with my Ricoh KR-5 with a 50mm lens on Adox Color Implosion 100 film.